How To Save a Life
by LemurLou
Summary: [H OC] House picks up Andi Pratchett at a bar, only to discover that they both work at PPTH. After the people around them get used to the sideways coupling, a tragedy strikes them whose wake destroys House and Andi.


**PART ONE: JUST MY LUCK **

**Chapter 1**

I was sitting in the corner of a bar, hunched over my drink and a salad. I watched girl after girl get picked up, dancing backwards towards the door and dragging some Cabana beach boy frantically along with them. But that doesn't happen to me, ever. Meet Andi Prachett, dark, clumsy, preposterous hair. I'm pretty, but not in the way attractive men like. They like blond teenagers with big breasts. I get elbowed by my friends for this insight, but I remain convinced I'm totally right. Case in point: this evening. Two hours of tanned twenty-somethings making out. Thirty-five-year-old Russian Jews are not in demand.

I stared into my Screwdriver blankly. Over the course of this evening, I'd become pretty familiar with it. I took a tiny sip, letting the vodka and citrus acid burn my tongue.

"Hey." A good-looking man, a little older than me, with grey stubble and cool eyes. He slid into the chair beside me.

"You look like you want to get picked up."

"Insightful." My eyes met his for a second. He seemed amused and kind of startled that I was going to play this sarcastic game with him. To break the silence, he picked up my drink and took a swig of it.

"That's awful," He said, flaring his nostrils at the drink.

"See, I was sitting here hoping you were gonna pay for it."

"Shame."

"Although you probably can't afford to pay for it. That drink was worth a lot more than you thought."

"Really? Why?"

"_Before _you drank from it, the pulp was arranged in the pattern of the Virgin Mary." The man snorted, then held out his hand.

"I'm Gregory House. Call me Greg." I raised my eyebrow.

"You go to bars and_ shake hands_?"

"Oops. Forgot my manners." He put his arms around my waist and kissed me. After a few seconds we came up for air.

"Let's get out of here," I said, standing up, and just like that, I was prancing out of a bar with a guy of my own.

**Chapter 2**

The English language needs more expletives. Believe me, I ran through them all when I woke up that morning in an unfamiliar apartment.

"Coffee?" Greg turned towards me.

"Yes. I could definitely use some." I started to get up, then realized I was naked. I pulled the comforter up to my armpits. "Could I borrow some clothes?" Greg nodded and got up. At least _he_ was wearing boxers. He tossed me a pair of blue boxers covered in little white pills and a white T-shirt. I put on yesterday's underwear and bra, dressed in his clothes, and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I'll be there in a second," I said.

"Cream and sugar?"

"Cream." Greg pulled on a Rolling Stones t-shirt and left.

I rested my head in my hands and stared off into space. I'd never done this before. Only now did I realize that it was one of the stupider things I'd _ever _done (and believe me, there was plenty of competition for that). I'd left a bar with a strange cripple. A funny, flirty, weirdly attractive cripple, but that didn't change the fact that he easily could have been dangerous. But I wasn't in a lot of danger now. He'd proved himself not to be a violent killer/sodomist. And I wasn't going to get pregnant or sick, given that _he'd _insisted on a condom. I definitely would've forgotten.

"Andi?" Greg's voice wafted into the bedroom.

"Coming." I said resignedly, getting up. Only on my way out did I catch an orange bottle, half empty, labeled hydrocodone: Vicodin. I did know how to pick them, didn't I? A one-night stand with a sarcastic crippled drug addict.

A day in the life of Andi Prachett, world-class masochist.

**Chapter 3**

"Mission Impossible: get to work, change into the scrubs in my locker. All without being seen." Greg rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee.

"Good luck."

"Are you undermining my mission?"

"No, simply verbally discouraging you."

"Oh, okay. As long as that's all it is. Can I use your shower?" He shrugged.

"I don't know. Can you?" I shut my eyes and sighed.

"Did I mistakenly sleep with the grammar police?" Greg got up and began rifling through a cabinet.

"Do you know where I put the peanut butter?"

"I'm not your wife. And I didn't get to see much of your _kitchen _yesterday." Greg turned around and squinted at me.

"Where do you work?"

"Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Why?"

"Dammit." He said. "Dammit, dammit, _dammit._" I sat back down and rested my elbow on the table, covering my lower face with it.

"Let me guess. You work there too."

"Bingo. Take your shower."

**Chapter 4**

Scrubs mission? Successful. I was able to change, shove yesterday's slinky black mess into my locker, and check in without being noticed. I'd been working in my office for about a half hour before there was a knock on the door.

"Hello?" I yelled.

"Greg." The sound of wood against my door. I got out of my document.

"Come on in." He opened the door and immediately settled himself in my ancient purple armchair.

"So this is the office of Andi Prachett, the great gynecologist. What kind of perv would want to spend their days with a hand up someone else's…"

"Did you show up _just _to annoy me?" I asked.

"Partly. But I need you."

"You were a lot more enthusiastic when you said that last night." I grinned evilly. I have made Gregory House blush!

"Sorry!" I giggled, ducking the cane he pretended to hit me over the head with. "Okay, I'll bite. Why do you need me?"

"Picture this. Twenty-eight going on thirteen. Madame Alexander doll. Got it? Now dress her in black chest-baring gauze getup and fishnets and bestow upon her a massive crush on the one and only… me!"

"Fun."

"But wait. I'm not done. Add a very grumpy black guy and a guy whose hair roughly approximates a kangaroo. Oh, and Kangaroo-guy is obviously in love with doll, but…"

"She's in love with you. I'm reasonably smart. I think I can follow this. What a soap opera your little department is! Okay. So where do I come in?" Greg grinned, then leaned in. His breath tickled my ear.

"Here's the plan."

**Chapter 5**

"Please welcome… Dr. Pratchett!" Greg introduced me with a flourish. His team clapped unenthusiastically.

"Dr. Chase, _kangaroo_." He whispered the second part in my ear.

"Dr. Cameron, _china doll_."

"Dr. Foreman, _pompous black guy._" The team looked back and forth at one another, then House resumed his normal tone of voice.

"I've called Dr. Pratchett in for a consult. Dr. Pratchett, Our patient presents with a history of severe cough and sleeplessness. He was admitted a month ago for coughing up blood."

"What have you prescribed?"

"Codeine for the cough, eczopocone to knock him out. He's also on low doses of steroids to combat the swelling. We did an exploratory endoscopy and found slight scarring of the trachea. The patient went into pulmonary arrest before we could go any further."

"Does he smoke?"

"Not enough to cause this. Twenty pack year history."

"How old is he?"

"Seventies." House was making subtle throat-cutting motions. This was not the plan. But I knew what was wrong with the patient, and the diagnosis he'd asked me to pose I realized was wrong.

"Where did he work?" Dr. Cameron flipped through the file.

"A boatyard in Philadelphia." I rolled my eyes.

"He has asbestos poisoning," I said matter-of-factly, knowing I was right. With a final flourish, I put my arms around Greg's waist and kissed him deeply. I had veered completely from script, but from his smile I could tell he was pleased anyway.

**Chapter 6**

Six hours later, having washed my hands after a bimanual rectovaginal exam (it's better to give than to receive, but only by a very small margin), I went to Greg's office. I knocked on the door.

"Just a second!" So I got an opportunity to hear what the diagnostics team was doing in the other room.

"There she is," Foreman's voice said. They were turning pages in what I assumed was the Hospital Directory.

"OB/GYN?" Cameron seemed surprised. "Why not a pulmo consult?"

"Because House is sleeping with her," Chase sing-songed.

"Why do you assume every relationship is sexual?" Cameron asked, sounding very irritated.

"With House?" Chase pushed his point. Cameron accepted it and sighed in resignation. I heard the thud and raspy slide of the book being closed and placed back on the bookshelf.

"I'm going." Cameron said. Greg opened the door to let me in, allowing me to narrowly avoid Cameron finding out I'd heard their conversation.

"Prachett better watch out. No one wants Cameron mad at them." I sighed, and hoped he was wrong. That girl was really jealous, wasn't she? Then again, a look up at Greg reminded me why. So how had I stumbled upon him? And why had he taken such a liking to me?

**Chapter 7**

Greg looked very pleased.

"You got the diagnosis, _and _you got Cameron to leave me alone! Welcome to the Secret Friendship Club." He took a lollipop out of his pocket, and I proceeded to put it into my mouth and very slowly loll my tongue around it. I winked at him. He raised an eyebrow.

"But can you tie a cherry stem in a knot with your tongue?"

"I have all sorts of talents." With that, I pulled the candy part off the stick and kissed him, passing the purple circle between our mouths. We went on like that for a while, and just as he was getting his hand up the back of my sweater, I heard footsteps.

"Is this a bad time?" Someone behind us asked. I immediately sucked in the candy. I couldn't get in enough air to cough it out. I tried to make gagging noises, but I didn't have enough oxygen even for that. I was panicking. I was going to die. Greg and his friend were talking about something, there was no way they would see me. My peripheral vision was black. There was no chair to throw myself over. I was going to die, I thought again, but I was okay with it this time. Mercy endorphins kicking in. All this in maybe five seconds. But suddenly, the non-Greg guy turned around and immediately started pushing up on my ribs, and the candy came out and stuck to the opposite wall.

"Th… thanks." I gasped. "Well, if you're going to choke, do it in a hospital."

"Kind of like getting shot," Greg muttered. I gave him a "what do you mean?" look.

"Skip it." We were silent for a moment, watching the lollipop, still sticking to the wall. Finally, Greg's friend broke the silence.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Wilson." He said, holding out his hand. I shook it, trying not to look at Greg. If I did, I'd crack up. With Greg, everything was just funnier.

**Chapter 8**

It was clear Dr. Wilson and Greg wanted to talk alone, so I gathered up my stuff and headed for the front door.

"Dr. Pratchett?" Dr. Cameron was calling my name. I spun around.

"Yes?"

"Are you dating House?"

"That's not how I would put it." She grimaced, then looked at the ceiling. Dr. Cameron, whatever her faults were, was utterly gorgeous. I felt a stab of jealousy.

"Dr. Cameron…" She laughed bitterly, her gaze still not meeting mine.

"I got it, okay? I got it that… that he wants someone his age, someone smarter or prettier or classier or… I don't know! He said he liked being alone. But he just didn't want me. I don't… I don't blame you. But I hate… I hate to see you win." She looked at me bitterly. Her eyes had filled up, but she wouldn't let them spill over.

Why was _I _suddenly the psychiatrist? Why was it that meeting Greg in a bar authorized everyone else to dump on me? And what _was _Dr. Cameron's problem? There was something going on that had _nothing _to do with Greg.

**Chapter 9**

She walked away.

"Dr. Cameron?"

"_What?"_

"Coffee? On me?" She nodded, and I was surprised.

"Okay."

Fifteen minutes later, we were in the nearly-empty cafeteria with Styrofoam cups of fairly drinkable java. I leaned over.

"Listen. We're not dating. I met him in a bar last night, we had sex, I realized in the morning we worked in the same place. I never expected to see him once I left his apartment. And I didn't know about you. So let's get that off the table. I did not do this to undermine you." Dr. Cameron nodded.

"Okay. Second thing. Let's see… well…you ever had a one-night stand?" Dr. Cameron looked over her shoulder, then nodded. Before I could continue, she started speaking. It surprised me, how fast she went from teary to sullen to talkative.

"What I did really topped the list of incredibly dumb. I slept with _Chase_." I giggled.

"Seriously?" She seemed, finally, on the verge of a smile too. Dr. Cameron nodded.

"Seriously."

"Um… why?"

"Promise you won't tell anyone?" I could have sworn this was eighth grade.

"Promise. You want me to pinky swear, or is spitting in my hand enough?" She took a deep breath.

"Okay. I was crystal methamphetamines."

"You're such a _doctor. _Only doctors say 'crystal methamphetamines.' And yes, I believe you. You _would _have to be on drugs to sleep with him. This guy is fifty percent carbon, fluids, and minerals, fifty percent hair gel." She smiled again, and she seemed to be getting comfortable, but suddenly her pager went off.

"Got to go." She stood up, then suddenly turned around.

"By the way?"

"Mm?"

"I understand why House loves you." She walked off quickly. I went to correct her, to say House didn't love me, but she was gone. Only then did I realize I'd never gotten to make my point about one-night stands.

**Chapter 10**

Greg caught up with me in the parking lot. It was snowing, I was freezing, I just wanted to get to my car. But I didn't have a choice.

"Andi?" I turned.

"I owe my life to Dr. Wilson," I told him.

"We all do." An uncomfortable silence slid between us. I beat it down.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" For some reason, Greg laughed.

"_What?_" I asked. He shook his head.

"You don't seem to understand. Let me explain. You choke when you _first _see me. Then you ask me out on a date, or visa versa. We make lame jokes for a month or so, we kiss. One of us stops returning calls. At some point, we agree to meet in a bar, drink a few too many screwdrivers, sleep together, and regret it. You completely destroyed the timeline." I nodded, then got up in his face and talked very quietly and slowly.

"I guess I've been a bad girl, then," I whispered, my curls pressing against his scruff.

"Now, what are we going to do about that?" He asked, is voice equally low. He closed the distance between our mouths, slowly and carefully, his cane resting against my leg as he put his arms around my waist: both for physical support and for contact. We didn't break the kiss for a long time, and we stood there, bodies connected, snow falling on our hair. In twenty-four hours, I'd transformed from a watcher of a soap operas to a character. And I loved it.

**Chapter 11**

I woke up in his bedroom. Again.

Will I _never _learn?

But today, my biggest problem was logistical. I couldn't wear my scrubs from yesterday, because they were slathered in the appetizing combination of (now day-old) septic diarrhea and slimy blood clots. It's not a far call from the cafeteria food, but I don't think I could fool anyone. So I had to wake Greg up at six. This did not endear me to him one bit.

"If you don't have heavy doses of Vicodin to barter with, I don't talk to anyone this early."

"Sorry. If you want to get laid, you have to put up with a btchy woman waking you up at some ungodly hour to get you to get _her _some non-vomit-encrusted clothing." Greg groaned and sat up.

"Pass me the drugs," He said, motioning for his little orange bottle. I picked it up and shook it.

"Only if you give me your car keys." Reluctantly, he passed me the keys, I passed him the Vicodin, and I left to the sound of him snoring in a drug-induced sleep.

I grinned and went out to the car in borrowed clothes and a purple bathrobe. (He said it'd belonged to someone named "Stacey". Ex, maybe? Wonder what happened.)

I started the car and turned out of his driveway, looking forward to a minute with myself before going to work. I was outside in someone else's boxer's and someone else's stained bathrobe, I didn't care one bit.

Right then, life was good. Crazy, probably immoral, but good. I thought, maybe, I had an unlikely friendship with Cameron budding. I had a pseudo-boyfriend who I was getting along great with. I was on the top of a metaphorical, beautiful, snow-covered hill.

I didn't realize that the way down was ice, mud, and sticks. And I was at the peak and about to start sledding.

**Chapter 12**

I came into work two hours later with my scrubs freshly laundered, in my locker, and a skirt and blouse on my body. I was meeting with a patient in one of the gyno exam rooms. She was short, Asian, pale, and had a wet bloodstain covered the front of her pants.

"Ni hao," she greeted me, sounding pained. I sighed. I didn't speak Chinese! Way to start a morning. I picked up the phone and dialed Dr. Cuddy's office.

"Dr. Pratchett. I need a Chinese translator."

"Oh, sure. I'll just dispatch one right now." She said sarcastically. Shuffling of papers. "Are you really desperate?"

"Mhm." I replied. Dr. Cuddy sighed.

"I'll send you House. Be prepared, though. He's not cut out for the OBGYN ward. It's a little too… soft and pink." I snorted. He hadn't seemed to have a problem with last night's 'gynecology exam'. But I pressed my lips together to suppress laughter.

"I'm in room 203." I told her, and hung up. My patient and I sat across from one another in silence. Greg showed up minutes later and turned to the Chinese woman.

"Ni hao ma?" (How are you?)

"Wo bu hao. Wo hun dian." (I am not good. I am in very much pain.)

"Ni bu chuan ni de ku zi." (Take off your pants.)

"She me?" (What or why, in this case, why.)

"Ta shi yi ge peng yo." (She is going to help, literally, she is your friend, or on your side.)

"Hao de." (Okay.) She'd obviously understood him, because she slid off her pants and I placed her legs in the stirrups. Greg sat down in the chair beside the exam table.

"You can go now," I told him. He completely ignored me.

"Ni yue bu yue ar de hua yu?" (Do you speak only Chinese?)

"Bu yue. Wo shi ri ben. Wo xiang hun duo ren yue hua yue, bu xiang ri ben yue." (No. I am Japanese. I thought many people would speak Chinese, but not many would speak Japanese.) For some reason, Greg laughed.

"Andi yue rib en yue!" He exclaimed. At the sound of my name, I lifted my head from the woman's crotch.

"What?"

"Her first language is Japanese."

"I _speak _Japanese."

"I know. I'm going now."

It ended up being my best appointment in a long time. We had a long talk in Japanese, and in the end, she had a textbook surgery to remove an ectopic fetus.

I suspect Greg is Rain Man personified. No social skills, but god… the most talented man I've ever met.

**PART TWO: A SECOND AND FOREVER**

**Chapter 13**

I let out a bloodcurdling scream. The mound of my sticky, brown-yellow, completely disinfected lower half rises and falls.

Okay. I'll back up. I found out I was pregnant a month after I left off earlier, with the Japanese patient. I'd missed a period, peed on a stick, and voila… I had become suddenly aware that I had a mini-Greg floating around inside me. Delightful.

_He sat on his couch and rubbed his forehead._

"_Seriously?" I nodded. Greg threw a Vicodin down his throat._

"_Do you want a baby?" I was at a loss._

"_I don't know, Greg. I wasn't planning for one, certainly. But there are good surprises." He looked me straight in the eyes.  
_

"_I know. Is this one of them?"_

From my introduction to this moment, I either had developed massive, embarrassing constipation, or I'd told Greg yes.

"I'm a doctor," I hear Greg say impatiently to a nurse. "Get out of my way." He emerges at my bedside.

"Having fun yet?" He asks. I squeeze the living hell out of his hand in response.

"Great."

Despite the feeling of my hipbones being jacked apart, this is nothing compared to the catastrophe that is about to happen.

**Chapter 14**

"Okay, Andi. One more push and it…" Burning with pain, exhausted, I muster every ounce of strength in my pelvic muscles and shove the baby out completely. Warm blood flows from between my legs, but I'm feeling good, at least in comparison o the last three hours. Until I hear my baby isn't crying.

I hear the collision of an open palm against buttocks. An eerie silence, then a funny humming sound.

"He's alive." The doctor announces, relieved. Just alive? What's wrong? I'm an obstetrician. I know babies are supposed to cry, not hum a strange, gurgly sound.

I struggle to sit up, the blood still flowing and making a hot wet puddle on the bed.

"John?" I ask. (We're colleagues.) "John, what's wrong?" The baby flails unnaturally, and John quickly passes it off to a nurse with whispered, rushed instructions. He sits down, on the side of my bed opposite Greg. I pull the blankets over my body.

"I'm not sure, Andi. I don't want to say anything until I'm sure." I get hysterical.

"Tell me what you _think_, John," I plead, gripping Greg's hand but not looking at him.

"I think," he says, obviously reluctant, "Andi, I think your baby has cerebral palsy."

**Chapter 15**

As with most diseases, there is a spectrum. Some CP babies walk with only a limp. But in CP, during labor there's something kind of like a stroke that occurs in the brain that wipes out some portion of muscle control. In some children, it wipes it out entirely.

It's ten-thirty, a few hours after I'd given birth. The nurse returns Charlie to me. I cradle him in my arms, despite the twitching and the glassy, dead-looking eyes. It eliminates my hope of normalcy.

"He's going to be hungry," the nurse says softly. I start to pull on the shoulder of my hospital gown. She shakes her head and extends a bottle with a soft, broad nipple filled with yellow-white formula.

"Hon, Charlie does have cerebral palsy. It wiped out all his muscle control. It's going to be hard, taking care of him. And he can't nurse."

That's when I start to really cry. I hold Charlie close to me, breathing in his smell of the nurse's perfume and baby powder. Somehow, what made it really hit home was not being able to nurse. I was helpless. Without these special tools, my baby would die. And what kind of baby was it, anyway, who had no control and never would? What kind of adult would Charlie be, strapped to a wheelchair, humming, drooling, incapable of even controlling when he pees or eats?

Shaking with tears, I clutch Charlie to my chest, aching with the milk and the hope at a successful life I can't give him.

**Chapter 16**

Finally, I notice Greg sitting beside me. He's staring at Charlie.

"Can I hold him?" He asks softly. His face is unreadable. I pass Charlie over. Greg has heard the entire thing, silently. He rocks Charlie, holding him a little closer each time Charlie twitches or shakes.

"I was expecting this." He says. His steady eyes are completely fixed on Charlie's blank ones. I look up, wiping a tear away from my face with my palm.

"_What_?" It is the last thing I expect to hear from him.

"When I'm around, things go horribly wrong. It's been going so right, for so long, I knew something was going to happen."

"But you didn't expect this," I say, a little too forcefully. Then, backing down, I ask quietly, "Did you?" Greg shakes his head.

"Not this, specifically." He begins rocking Charlie, not meeting my eyes. I know he's not crying: Greg does not cry. But he's doing his own version. He's trying to deal with what has happened, trying to adjust to the new reality, trying to understand something outside the realm of comprehension.

**Chapter 17**

A week later, Charlie, Greg and I come home from the hospital. I have a nursery set up, but now, it seems stale: the mobiles, the toys, the things my baby can never appreciate or even understand. We don't know how much Charlie is aware of. Maybe nothing. I long for the happiness I felt with a swollen belly and a catalog of cribs.

Late that night, after two hours of desperately trying to feed Charlie, Greg and I are sitting in his nursery. Greg is on the couch, I'm in the rocking chair with Charlie.

"Greg?" I say. He looks up. His eyes, the ones that were always so alive and glittering, have gone flat since Charlie's birth.

"What?" His voice is as lifeless as his eyes.

"Nothing." I whisper, mostly to myself. He goes back to his medical journal. I stare down at Charlie. He has spit up some of the formula we'd tried so hard to get down his throat. Terrified he'll choke, I wipe away the vomit with my own hand, then use the hand to scoop the rest of it out of his mouth. This is purely on instinct. It is then I realize that even if Charlie is never going to be a real person, I have the curse and the blessing of loving him unconditionally and forever.

Then I look back up at Greg. He's blank, as he's been for the past week. As much as I adore Charlie, in getting him, I've lost Greg.

So what do I really have left?

**Chapter 18**

Now we've had Charlie for two weeks. I wake up at six o'clock, bleary eyed, to go feed him. I've spent the past fortnight on autopilot. Feed, eat, sleep, make sure Greg isn't killing himself.

It's hell. But I get up to the beep of my alarm and slide off my nightgown. I stand in the middle of my room, in a pair of panties and nothing else. The cold wind blows through my body, freezing me, but I can feel something. I do this every morning. It's the only affirmation I have that I'm still alive.

I try to put on my bra, but it takes me several seconds to remember how to fasten the clasp. Same for the zipper on my slacks. I misbutton my red blouse four times, and when I finally get it right, I realize I'm wearing purple pants that don't match. I put on a cream blouse instead, then go into Charlie's nursery.

If Charlie was a normal baby, the lack of loud tears would be ominous. But to me it didn't signify a thing. I go over to his crib and a load of hot adrenaline hit my bloodstream. Charlie is frozen mid-jerk, cold, nearly blue, and obviously dead.

I am overcome by grief, of course, but I hate myself for the tiny bit of relief that sneaks in underneath.

But then I realize. Even though Charlie is gone, and he'd been around for only fourteen days, nothing would ever be the same for us again. Charlie would always be there. Greg might never come back. I know I wouldn't dare have another baby, and I could never look at my job the same way again. My baby, for the short life he had, would affect us all forever.

Fin.


End file.
